


Something's Bound to Break.

by Micutiethemitten



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, I just thought I'd tag it just in case., It's the Kamoshida shit yaknow, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ryuji's Leg Break, That appear twice in the whole fic, The Non-con and Underage are mentions, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Micutiethemitten/pseuds/Micutiethemitten
Summary: Alternative Title, if you're willing to make lighthearted jokes about this kind of thing to laugh the pain away: Ryuji Fucking Dies Just Kidding He Gets His Leggie Broken By An Asshole Teacher.A fic providing snapshots of Ryuji Sakamoto's life before, during and after the events of Persona 5.(This fic contains Domestic Abuse, Abuse by Teachers, Bullying, and Mentions of Sexual Abuse towards Minors. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.)





	1. Act 1, Scene 1: Home Life

**Author's Note:**

> I write Ryuji Angst for a living, I'm sorry.  
> This fic will be separated into two acts, each with seven scenes. Act 1 is the Hurt Side (black haired half), and Act 2 is the Recovery Side (blond haired half).  
> Some chapters will be longer than others, sorry about that.  
> Many of these are my personal headcanons, so please respect them. Though, please keep in mind that I am always happy to discuss said headcanons!
> 
> Essentially: It gets worse before it gets better.

Sakamoto Ryuji hates school. He hates home. His only respite is the journey to and from, and even then, there's the dread of having to arrive soon to either his own home, or school.  
Ryuji is barely down the stairs when his father grumbles a quiet ‘Where’s your mother’ to him, barely looking up from his bottle of beer. It’s cheap, store brand. Clearly his father is past the point of caring what garbage he puts into his system. The room is dark, various bottles of the same label and size and stench scattered around the room. Ryuji’s father lacks the decency to clean up after himself. It’s probably why he wants to know where his wife is, so she can clean up after him, as if he’s a child.

In the mornings, his dad always has hangovers, and uses it as an excuse to drink more beer. In an hour, he’ll be passed out, the teen is sure of it. It’s happened enough to be expected.

“...Dad, didn’t you have a job interview today..?” Ryuji avoids the question. He can tell without even looking at his father closely that he hasn’t washed. His hair is coated in grease, sticking out at odd ends and knotted. He reeks of booze. The shirt he’s wearing is wrinkled with a stain on the front. Dark and ugly. His father has either forgotten about the job interview, or doesn’t care. 

His father reaffirms the question, this time harsher and clearer than the first, and Ryuji tries his best to make his way to the door as fast as possible with little incident. He’s not so lucky, as he feels a hand wrap around his arm and squeeze firmly, sure to bruise. The younger is spun around, and gets a faceful of his father’s ugly mug- half his own but darker- staring at him. He shivers. God.

“Don’t give me that attitude, you brat. Tell me where your mother is!” His father’s breath makes it clear that he hasn’t brushed his teeth recently, or even taken a mint or /anything/ to make it more pleasant. Ryuji opens his mouth to say that he’s going to be late for school if he keeps holding him up like this, but before he can say anything, both hear the front door knob rattle and pull open. Light sweeps over the room, and a woman of short stature stands in the doorway. Ryuji manages a small, weak smile.

His mother, the wife of Sakamoto Yori, steps in with a shopping bag in each arm, forcing a smile to them both and setting the shopping down on the kitchen counter. The bags are half empty, and Ryuji knows that a few items can't possibly be all she's bought. He also knows that despite her size, Mrs Sakamoto is stronger than he is, and she can carry much more than that. She's trying to squeeze multiple trips out of it. Ryuji's noticed, but doesn't bring it to the attention of his father. It's better that he doesn't find out that she's trying to stay out of his way. Before he can say anything to her, his father shoves him away, and grumbles, "Get your ass to school before you cause more trouble than you're worth."

Ryuji doesn't need to be told twice. He shares a look with his mother before scurrying out.

He wishes he could do more to help her.


	2. Act 1, Scene 2: School Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light from the star goes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter entails the event where Ryuji gets his leg broken. It has exactly what you'd expect from Pre-HeartTheft! Kamoshida.  
> It's probably the longest chapter I have written so far, and is definitely a lot longer than the first.

School is fine. He’s failing his classes, but it’s fine. He has track. He’s fine with being an idiot as long as he’s got track. But even these days, that’s growing difficult, too. The old coach has been fired and replaced by a former Olympian, a Kamoshida Suguru, and ever since that first day, his practice has gone more and more downhill.

Ryuji is, academically, stupid, but he still recognises abuse when he sees it. It’s part of his life, after all. He can see the look in his teammates, tired and weak as they get onto the halfway mark of each insane milestone that his coach has set. If they protest, the milestone is increased, and they run and run and face it until they falter and fall.

The only one who hasn’t given up is him, Sakamoto Ryuji, the 'star' of the track team. The last coal on the dwindling fireplace. He doesn’t give up because he’s given up at home, and can’t allow himself to do the same here. He fights a losing battle because he is supposed to be the star, not the moon. A star that gives his teammates hope, rather than the moon, the sign of a thick, choking night.

“This whole thing ain’t training, coach. It’s physical abuse! You just don’t like our team!” The young track star stares down his coach that afternoon, standing protectively over those he cares about.

“It’s nothing to do with the team, Sakamoto. It’s to do with you. You see, this lesson is going to be about how not to end up like a fuck up, like Sakamoto.” Kamoshida is smug, and Ryuji stares, unsure of how badly this is going to get. He expects manhandling. He expects abuse. What he gets is a question that makes his blood run cold.

“Do any of you know about Sakamoto’s living situation?”

He feels his body jitter as he sucks in a breath, staring at Kamoshida like a deer in the headlights, his arms trembling with barely concealed rage, and he spits out a rough, forced, ‘They don’t need to know about home, you effin' piece of shit'. Even if he doesn’t expect his teacher to stop at that, he still feels sickened when the taller, bigger man keeps talking.

“You see, I’ve been hearing very worrying things about our dear Sakamoto-kun. Rumours about how his daddy beats him and his mommy, and all he does is cry about it like the useless pile of garbage he is. He can’t even protect his loved ones.” Ryuji’s blood is boiling, glaring at his teacher with all the hatred in his soul. His throat is too dry to make any noise.

”I guess it’s like mother like son, because I doubt that anyone with a brain even a fraction bigger than Sakamoto’s should know not to get their asses into men like that. Right, Sakamoto? A family of idiots. You look so much like your father, too. Maybe you’ve inherited his lowlife attitude and your mother’s stupidity? The best thing she has going for her is her face. She-”

Kamoshida feels the punch before he sees it, and Ryuji registers having punched someone before he remembers doing it.

“How dare you talk about Mom like that, you perverted-”

“Did you just punch me?” Kamoshida cuts in, quiet and unthreatening, tone laced with something the dark brown-haired man in front of him can barely place.

In a moment, before Ryuji can even move, he’s on the ground, face smushed into the dirt so quickly he can feel his nose crack with the force. His mind reels from it, making him dizzy from the impact, feeling a palm grip the back of his skull and crush his face into grass and mud. It gets into his mouth, and he can’t spit it out, just take more and more until dirt is all he can taste. He struggles, because it’s all he can do, because the dirt is choking him, and he can’t breath, it’s too much, and he needs air. He needs-

“Keep still, brat, or I’ll break both your legs, and you’ll never run again. Stay on the ground in the dirt where pieces of shit like you belong. This is all because of your old coach, you know, had he not approached me with a sound argument, I doubt I’d have to teach someone like you about an important life lesson like this.” There’s a voice next to his ear, present and constant and it reminds Ryuji of the times he’s been told that Kamoshida wanted him in the PE Faculty Office, being used as nothing but a tool for the teacher to vent his frustrations onto. (The hand pulls his black hair back, and then lets go, coming into contact with the dirt a second time. He can feel himself shiver, and he stays still, feeling a shoe press into his back, heel digging into the small of it and pinning him there. His friends- God, his friends, watching this humiliating display- surround the two, whispering unintelligibly, like a void swallowing his words into the nothingness. The eyes on him dig into him, and he feels like there's nowhere to hide, all his secrets on display and nowhere to run. It's horrible, and just that feeling chokes him even more than the dirt does. He feels like he's going to throw up.) Most recently, it’s been his frustrations about Oshiro-senpai, his current object of desire, and her polite refusal of his advances. And whenever she rejects, Ryuji is forced to accept whatever the pervert wanted from her, and-

“Now that Sakamoto is finally listening. I can continue my lesson. Now. You’re probably thinking… It’s all rumours, isn’t it? What proof do you have that our little star is getting his pathetic ass kicked by his daddy…? I can show you.”

“No-” Ryuji protests weakly through a mouthful of dirt, but if his coach hears, he doesn’t listen, leaning down to roughly tug off Ryuji’s uniform so badly it rips. He feels violated, large hands much bigger than his own prying and prodding, showing his team, his friends, each bruise, each broken bottle slice, each cigarette burn, that wasn’t made by Kamoshida’s own hands. There’s plenty for him to work with, each bruise worsening as the man’s hands dig in deep and stay there until every bruise, even small faded ones on his wrists, are a deep, blossoming purple. His teammates do nothing.

His coach is rambling about something he can’t bear listening to, probably about his drunk father, who drinks to forget about his son, beats him and then drinks more to get rid of the hangover. Kamoshida’s hands are bigger than his father’s, each muscle emphasising his physical prowess, and Ryuji feels like he’s suffocating because there isn’t any room, despite being outside. He wonders if this is how Claustrophobic people feel in tight spaces.

The only blessing that Ryuji has right now is that all his clothes haven’t been torn off, and the raven isn’t entirely sure that he’d ever want to consider that a blessing. What remains of his torn clothing is hanging to his body, scraps littering the floor haphazardly. The smaller of the two trembles, questioning what kind of God would give a man like this the power to rip clothes so easily. No God answers him, and he’s not quite sure if it disproves the idea of a God, or hints that such a God is an asshole.

His thoughts are cut out by a sharp tug of his hair, pulling him up, and Ryuji can feel the other’s breath on his ear, and his nose wrinkles as he spits out the dirt. His breath stinks. The teacher’s tone is smug and snarky, like he’s won. He feels harsh fingers prying into his mouth, and it takes everything he has to not bite down. “Aren’t you going to apologise for slapping your teacher, shrimp?” He grins, the fingers slipping out eventually to give him a chance, to say something, anything, just /something/. “If you beg for my forgiveness enough, I might lessen your sentence.”

The raven spits out a bitter “Go off yourself-” and before he can even finish it, his face is shoved into the dirt again. He hears a laugh that makes him want to vomit, and finally, finally, Kamoshida pulls away. Ryuji doesn’t dare stand up. He doesn’t even think he can. He must look pathetic on the floor.

“If you insist on being a brat, then I can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Is all he hears.

He’s frail, a 1st year against an Olympic medallist, shaking as Kamoshida watches his legs like he’s analysing them, thinking this whole thing through, and the anticipation is making Ryuji feel like he’s going to pass out, because he is, and there’s a moment of silence, pierced by a deadly crack and crunch and for that small moment, Ryuji thinks he’s okay-

He screams as sharp pain shoots up his body, the spot just above his knee burning as his nerves crackle with shocking intensity, conveying the severity of the injury. He screams because he’s never felt anything hurt as much, his right knee ruined under Kamoshida’s ministrations. Blood, thick and warm and sticky, stains the grass and stains his skin and stains his future with red, bright red.

Ryuji slumps into the earth, all energy gone from his body. His body hurts, paralysing him effectively without Kamoshida holding him down. He can’t hear anything but muffled voices, ringing in his ears. Is it tears or fatigue clouding his vision? Presumably both. There's a warm sensation on his back, the first bit of numb comfort he's felt in a while, and hushed, murmurs from above him as he's rolled onto his back and pulled against someone's chest. Only one person has come to help him. Faces become blobs of peach, and he can just make out what is supposed to be his body. Is his leg supposed to bend like that..? In the distance, he can barely make it out- is a voice, calm, methodical.

“...Guru… Ka...shida… yes… merge... Yuji… Kamo… roken… eg…”

It fades to black, and before he passes out for good, he can see bright, yellow eyes and unruly, frizzy hair almost as black as the background.


	3. Act 1, Scene 2: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walls are white, the ceiling is white, the sheets are white, white, white. White. Hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the one after it are both about when Ryuji wakes up in the hospital.  
> Ryuji's mom is finally given a name, and I've realised that this fic is essentially just my headcannons and that's it. Sorry.

Waking up is something that feels like he has to force. It’s the clunky feeling of depression where nothing matters, and you can hardly bring yourself to care enough to get out of bed. He feels exhausted, falling in never-ending nothingness, heart still and serene because he’s long since gotten used to the feeling of numbness and falling for eternity. He has to force himself to wake up, and even then, it’s slow and sluggish and too much effort than it’s worth.

When he wakes up completely, he sucks in his surroundings, processing his visuals as his ears ring, trying to build up a picture. The walls are white, the ceiling is white, the sheets are white, white, white. White. Hospital. He can hear crying to his left, and his right leg is held up in a cast. He can’t bend it even if he wants to, which is understandable seen as the cast goes past his knee. In his haze, he remembers tilting his head to look at a brunette, head bowed and weeping, her hand in his own and squeezing to keep herself grounded. Sakamoto Aimi. His mother. Ryuji has never expected his father to be there should he ever land himself in the hospital (not that he expected to land himself in the hospital in the first place), and his expectations aren’t unfounded. His mother is alone. He doesn’t know whether to feel happy or abandoned by this fact.

Aimi looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, short hair messy and knotted, thrown into a loose messy plait that hangs from her face instead of framing it. She looks like she’s just thrown anything onto her body, and her eyes are red and puffy from crying too much. Normally, Ryuji finds her wearing cute clothes with pinks and whites and lace, a pastel plain stitch aesthetic. The dull grey she’s pulled on doesn’t match her smile at all, the cardigan reminding him of a funeral. It’s a sharp contrast to the white walls that surround her, making her stand out like he thinks she should. But it doesn’t feel right.

She looks like she’s lost everything, and guilt gnaws at his heart. It’s his fault. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to punch Kamoshida, then he wouldn’t be in this stupid hospital with a mother crying over him. There’s a bruise on her cheek, one that’s new and one that Ryuji believes she’s gained in the time he’s been out for the count.

He can guess who has given it.

Aimi notices her son’s finally awake when he squeezes her hand, and she sobs, cupping his cheek and smiling despite it.

“Oh, sweetheart…” She looks relieved. Her son’s tiredness makes his head tuck into her hand, and she sighs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Ryuji wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer, and she collapses onto the bed on top of him, laughing quietly. For a while afterwards, there’s nothing but relief, silence and cuddles. Aimi's head is tucked under Ryuji's chin, and the younger releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He can feel her tears soak the front of his shirt, a poor imitation of his bleeding heart. Eyes shut, he feels the numbness wash away gradually, It’s the calm before the storm, pretending things will be okay, but they won’t be okay.  “Oh, sweetheart, my dear Ryuji…”


End file.
